“So melancholy, my lord?” said a sweet voice at his side.
Helmos turned to see his wife, who, with her customary soft and gentle step, had slipped so quietly into the room that he had not heard her. He smiled at her. Reaching out his arm, he gathered her to his side.
“I was, but your face, like the sun, has broken through the clouds that cluster over me, and lifts my gloom.”
Anna looked down upon the scene below and looked back up at her husband. He shared every thought with her, every dream, every wish, every fear. Every fear except one, which he had not named, not even to himself. She knew what he had been thinking as well as if she had heard his words.
“You and your loved father are still estranged?” she asked.
“He has not spoken to me since the day of the Council meeting,” Helmos said heavily. “He was furious that I did not attend the banquet, but to do so would have been hypocritical. For the same reason, I chose not to join my brother’s escort to the Temple this day.”
“The gods will not permit this travesty,” Anna said. “Dagnarus will never pass the Seven Preparations. You know that, my husband. The Dominion Lords will have no choice but to refuse to accept him, after this.”
“I would like to think so,” said Helmos, “but I lack your faith, my love.”
She lifted her eyes to him, astonished and troubled.
“I fear there is another force at work here,” Helmos said gravely. “And if that is true, I do not know what the gods can do against it.”
“I am not certain I understand what you mean,” Anna faltered.
“I have told this to no one,” said Helmos, “but the burden of secrecy weighs heavily upon my heart—”
“Then you must share that burden, my love,” said Anna firmly, holding fast to him. “I am strong. I can bear my portion.”
“I know,” he said, kissing her forehead. “But this is a terrible secret.” He sighed. His gaze went to the procession. Dagnarus had reached the Temple steps, was being welcomed by the Most Revered High Magus. “I believe that my half brother is a follower of the Void.”
“In the name of the gods, no!” his wife whispered, appalled. “Oh, my husband! Are you sure?”
“No, I am not sure. I have no proof,” Helmos said, sighing. “And I dare not accuse him without it. And even if I had proof, I am not sure I would produce it. Such a blow would kill my father.”
“I hope and pray that you are wrong,” Anna said quietly. “Dagnarus is arrogant and proud, heedless and uncaring, profligate. But surely he is not…not evil, not corrupt. And, if he is, the gods must thwart him! They have power over the Void, so we have always been taught.”
“Perhaps they did, once,” said Helmos, speaking reluctantly.
Dagnarus and King Tamaros had entered the Temple. The crowd lingered outside, cheering and now singing. He turned away from the window, drew his wife with him. He was concerned to see her pale and wan. Her pallor frightened him.
“I have no right to disturb your peace, my dear. We will not speak of such dark matters.”
“We will, my lord,” she said. “How can I truly be at peace if you are in torment? Tell me your fears, and I will either do what I can to alleviate them or I will stand with you and stare them in the face.”
“You do not know what relief I feel talking to you about this,” said Helmos, giving in. “Perhaps I am completely wrong. I would like to think so. Yet…but you shall hear. In the old days, when my grandfather was yet a boy, using the magic of the Void was an accepted practice.”
“I have heard that this was true,” said Anna. “I find it difficult to believe.”
“It is true, nonetheless. My studies confirm it, as did those of Reinholt, when I broached the subject with him. There is even, so I understand, rumor that an altar dedicated to the Void is located within the Temple itself. That is only rumor, the magi deny it. And that, I believe, is where we have made our mistake.”
“I do not understand you. How can it be a mistake to renounce this evil worship?”
“The mistake lies not in renouncing it, but in refusing to admit it exists. Instead of keeping the worship of the Void out in the open, where we may watch the weeds as they grow and trim them if necessary, we deny the existence of the weeds and so they flourish without check. Who knows how tall or thick the weed patch has grown? Who knows how far it has spread or what goodness it has choked out? This is one of my fears.
“For the other, I must use a different metaphor. Suppose that the Void is like hot, molten lava, simmering in a volcano. We have said the volcano is dead, but in reality, it is merely dormant. The bubble of lava is covered over by a dark crust. That bubble keeps growing and growing and, when it finally bursts, the eruption will destroy all in its path. I begin to doubt that even the gods can prevent such a catastrophic event.”
“But the gods are all-powerful,” argued his wife.
“True,” Helmos conceded. He was silent a moment, watching the dispersing throng, before adding, “And they are all-knowing. Their ways are mysterious. What if they are displeased that we ignore the Void, instead of actively fighting against it?”
“How can they be displeased with us?” Anna asked. “They gave us the Sovereign Stone.”
“You recall my father’s visionary encounter with the gods—he is a child seated at a table, the gods are parents too busy to attend to him and so they hand him this treat to quiet him.”
“So it appeared. I read the gods’ actions differently,” said his wife. “No child wants his parents doting upon him every second, hovering over him. They protect him from harm, true, but in so doing they smother him, keep him from growing to his true potential. No one would love a child more than we would,” she added softly, her eyes lowered so that her husband should not see her pain, “but we would not be with that child every minute of every day, watching his every move, snatching him away from every danger. How could he learn? How could he grow? Though it would be painful for us, we would let him walk on his own, fall down, make his own mistakes, burn his hand in the fire.”
“My dear one!” said Helmos, deeply moved. He held her close, kissed her. “My own beloved. You are wise. You should be the mother to a dozen children! The fact that you are not is one more reason I doubt the influence of the gods in this world.”
“Do not speak so!” his wife begged. “Perhaps they are teaching us a lesson.”
“I do not see what lesson they could be trying to teach us by depriving us of a child,” Helmos said testily.
“Patience, perhaps,” said Anna, looking up at him through her tears. “Fortitude. A test of our love for each other. A test of our faith in them.”
“I try to be patient!” Helmos’s voice was harsh with his own swallowed tears. “I try to be faithful. But it is hard! The gods as my witness, it is hard! Especially when I see my brother’s whore-got progeny roaming the streets—”
“Hush!” Anna laid her hand over his mouth. “Hush! Say no more! We will go this day to the Temple and make an offering—”
“Another offering,” Helmos interjected bitterly.
“My dear…” Anna remonstrated.
“I know. I am sorry. I will make my offering, and I will ask the gods’ forgiveness for doubting them.”
Anna kissed him and left to go about her duties, one of which was to pay a visit to the Queen, who was already planning the celebratory party intended to honor her son’s ascendance to the rank of Dominion Lord.
Helmos turned again to look out the window. The courtyard was clear of people. The Temple doors had closed upon Dagnarus.
“I will make an offering. I will ask you for a child,” Helmos said, gazing up into the sky, the gods’ reputed dwelling place. “Yet what will be the true prayer of my heart? Which prayer will you answer, if either? Which should I hope you answer, if it comes to a choice? Would I sacrifice one to gain the other? I almost think I might. Do not let my brother become a Dominion Lord!” He raised his hands in his earnest sup
plication. “Do not!”
The three Dominion Lords who would be responsible for conducting the Seven Preparations for Dagnarus stood behind the Altar of the Gods in the Temple. Accompanying them were the Most Revered High Magus and the three magi who would be conducting the trials. King Tamaros sat in his high-backed throne near the altar, looking on proudly. A novice, friend of the prince and present at Dagnarus’s own request, stood humbly, with head bowed and hands clasped, in the shadows to one side of the candlelit altar.
The Most Revered High Magus spoke the ritual words.
“The gods be witness! One comes before us to undergo the Seven Preparations required of all humans who would rise to the noble and puissant rank of Dominion Lord. Be it known by the candidate that these Seven Preparations have been designed to help us, the Testers, know your true worth. More importantly, the Preparations instruct you, the Candidate, in coming to know yourself.
“These are the Seven Preparations: Strength, Compassion, Wisdom, Endurance, Chivalry, Understanding, Leadership. It is not expected that you will pass all the trials. It may be that those you fail will prove more valuable to you, for we are taught that we learn more by failure than we do by success. The trial itself is more important than the outcome and it is upon that you will be judged.
“If you, Dagnarus, son of Tamaros, accede to these conditions and if you understand what is required of you and if you are prepared to take these Preparations, then come forward to stand before the altar. Stand before the gods and make your pledge to them.”
The Most Revered High Magus spoke severely, far more severely than was his wont. He, too, was troubled by this nomination. He had argued against it with Tamaros long and hard, to the point where the King had let it be known that his friend Reinholt was treading upon very dangerous and unstable ground. The post of Most Revered High Magus was not a royal post, Reinholt was not dependent upon the King for his position, but was chosen by the Council of Magi. However, the council listened to the King’s pleasure, and should the unsteady ground suddenly shift out from beneath his feet, the Most Revered High Magus could well find himself returning to his former position as Caretaker of Portals.
The matter was now out of his hands. The Dominion Lords had voted and the High Magus could not refuse to administer the Preparations once their votes were cast. He had been deeply concerned about the candidate’s suitability, for Reinholt was well informed and he had heard some—if not all—of the same dark rumors circulating about Dagnarus that had come to the ears of Helmos. Now, however, as the prince stepped forward, as he knelt before the altar, the Most Revered High Magus was feeling relieved, hoping rumor had been wrong.
Clad in simple white robes, naked beneath them, Dagnarus was a striking figure. He had yearned for this, planned for this, worked for this ever since, as a child, he had witnessed with envy his brother’s Transfiguration. To kneel before the altar, to embark upon the Seven Preparations was the culmination of Dagnarus’s ambition. He was not humbled with the thought, nor was he impressed with the solemnity, the reverence, and holiness of the moment. He was not fearful. The trials held no mystery for him, although they were supposed to be kept secret from the candidate. Gareth had provided the prince with a detailed account of each one. They had determined between them how best to either pass the trial or else circumvent it.
Dagnarus was impressed with the fact that at last he had achieved his life’s goal—the goal for this portion of his life, at least. The knowledge touched him deeply, filled him with immense satisfaction. He was, therefore, in a state of proper reverence, face flushed and eyes shining with what could be taken by those watching him for holy rapture. Only one person there—Gareth, standing in the shadows—knew that, in fact, the prince’s eyes shone with exultation at his own crowning achievement.
The Most Revered High Magus saw none of this. He saw before him a man of considerable personal beauty and undeniable charm, a prince in stature and in mien, kneeling before the gods and committing himself, body and soul, to the Preparations he was about to endure. The Most Revered High Magus saw King Tamaros’s pride in his son, saw the tears in the old man’s eyes as he gave Dagnarus his blessing, saw Dagnarus accept his father’s blessing with every appearance of grateful humility.
“Well, perhaps we have misjudged him,” said Reinholt to himself and to the gods. “Perhaps this will mark a change in his life. Who among us has not sowed a few wild oats in his youth? We cultivate the bitter harvest and proceed on. We will see how he handles himself during the trials. Those will tell all.”
He said aloud, “By the law, you, Dagnarus, will undergo the Seven Preparations alone, without any help or assistance from anyone. The Dominion Lords will observe from afar all that transpires: your actions, your inactions, your words, your deeds. By these, you shall be judged. Do you agree to this, Dagnarus, son of Tamaros?”
“I do, Most Revered High Magus,” Dagnarus said humbly.
“The trials will last seven days. Upon the night of the last day, the Council of Dominion Lords will meet and hear the report made by their three witnesses. They will then cast their votes. If the vote is in your favor, the next day you will undergo the Transfiguration.”
Dagnarus drew in a breath at this; his eyes were emeralds ablaze. “I understand, Most Revered High Magus!”
“If the Council votes against you, do not consider this as an indication that you are an unworthy person or that you have failed your family, your friends, or yourself. By reaching this exalted state, you have already achieved more than most men and women.”
“I will not fail!” said Dagnarus vehemently, emphasizing each word with passionate intensity, the vow accompanied by clenched jaw and clenched fist.
The Most Revered High Magus raised his eyebrows at this. It was proper at this point for the candidate to express his humble thankfulness at being given the opportunity, not his determination to succeed. Dagnarus’s pronouncement not to fail spoiled Reinholt’s next line, which was a homily on learning from failure. Wisely cutting that line from the text, the Most Revered High Magus skipped to the conclusion, which was to call down the blessing of the gods upon the candidate.
The ceremony was over. The Most Revered High Magus bid Dagnarus rise. The three Dominion Lords came forward, took their places, one on either side of the candidate and one walking behind—a ceremonial escort. With solemn faces, they accompanied Dagnarus to the small cell where he would spend his hours alone, meditating and praying, during the intervals between trials. Here they left him with words of encouragement and good wishes, which he received with gratitude. They shut the cell door behind him.
Looking about the plain and uncomfortable room, Dagnarus sighed and prepared to make the best of it. He threw himself upon the bed. What with creating the Vrykyl and consoling Valura, he had not slept at all last night. He was allowed several hours of prayer before his first trial, however. He intended to take advantage of the leisure time to sleep, and he was just drifting off when a scratching and tapping on the wall woke him.
At first he thought it was mice, but the tapping came at regular intervals from the wall on the side of the cell farthest from the door. Rising, Dagnarus approached the wall, and tapped back. A faint, very faint, voice came to him.
“The cabinet! Go into the cabinet.”
Dagnarus looked around, saw a tall, walk-in cabinet standing in a corner. Opening the door, he found a clean white robe and a pair of sandals, such as the magi wear in the Temple. He entered the cabinet. A wooden panel about a hand’s width in size, located in the back, shifted. Gareth’s face appeared in the aperture.
“Quite clever,” said Dagnarus approvingly. “Did you do this?”
Gareth shook his head. “No. And keep your voice down! At different times during the year, various magi are supposed to undergo days of prayer and fasting. Those who can’t quite manage the fasting portion of the ritual ask their friends to sneak food to them. Most of the cells have these ‘pantries,’ as they are known.”
“You will get no supper, Your Highness,” said Gareth. “You are supposed to be thriving upon spirit alone.”
“Come, now, this is hard!” Dagnarus protested. “I did not know that starvation was a part—”
“Listen to me, Your Highness!” Gareth interrupted, cross with nervousness. They were both taking an immense risk, and he wished the prince would be more serious. “The first of your trials begins this very afternoon. That is what I have come to tell you.”
“This afternoon. Good. I’ll be able to take my nap. Which one is it?”
“The Preparation of Compassion. You will be taken to the Hospitalers, to the part where reside those whose conditions are considered hopeless, those whom we cannot heal. There you will minister to their needs—bathe them, bind their sores, rub ointment into the scabrous lesions, clean up their waste—”
Dagnarus frowned, clearly displeased. “I told you, Patch, I will not do this. I will not breathe their foul contagious air. I will not touch their rotting flesh! You were supposed to find some way out of this, some loophole in the rules through which I might escape.”
“I searched, Your Highness,” Gareth returned. “I argued against it as best I could, claiming that this was not an appropriate test for you, a soldier, urging that something more martial might be substituted. You must remember I am only in the novitiate, and though I am given special status as your friend, my arguments carry very little weight with the High Magus or the Council. They refused even to consider my proposal. The visit will be horrible, Your Highness, but it will last only a day and a night. As to catching anything, many of the brothers and sisters who work there do so without falling ill…”
“Some, perhaps, but not all,” said Dagnarus darkly.
“True, Your Highness.” Gareth fell silent.
“I tell you, Patch,” said Dagnarus, after a pause, “every man has a horror of something. I have a horror of disease. When I was a little boy, they made me visit my mother, who had taken ill. I still recall it—the healers tiptoeing in and out, filling the already stinking air with noxious smoke, serving up bitter medicines to purge the body’s ill humors, pulling leeches out of jars. I could not stomach it, and I screamed and kicked until they were forced to carry me out.”
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